A Storm of Certainty
by sunburntdaisy
Summary: Peter knows what he has to do a little earlier. When Leo leaves Assumpta takes off  but not after him.
1. Chapter 1

A Storm of Certainty

"I ask you cause I think you're the man in the know." Leo's tone changed, his eyes accusing.

"Sorry, I'm in the dark." Peter cradled Kieran's head, the soft wisps of hair tickling the palm of his hand.

"I don't think that's quite true though is it? I think you know what I'm asking."

"I don't." He spoke the words as understanding dawned on him.

"I think I am on a hiding to nothing unless you say otherwise."

What to say? How? He knew perfectly well what Leo was asking but he'd never – not intentionally... She'd married him and he'd done all he could to stay away – for his own sake as well as theirs perhaps – but how could he possibly have jeopardized their marriage?

"Last chance father."

Leo walked past him and left the room as Assumpta entered. She'd not seen Leo, only Peter, standing their holding Kieran who was calm and happy. "You're a natural."

Peter's eyes darted to Leo's exit and Assumpta's followed. Her eyes gave away the question – what had been said that had Peter looking so... terrified?

He looked straight back at her with a similar, unspoken question – what had been said to make Leo so sure? She must have said something. Or maybe it was more obvious than he dared believe. Father Mac wasn't the only one with eyes and ears...

His eyes darted from the door, to Kieran, to the floor and finally met hers. There he found the frightening truth that this _thing_ was yet to go away. She was watching him holding Kieran, admiring, seeing something more perhaps..?

"Can a man get a drink around here?" someone demanded from the bar.

Assumpta still stood there, forcibly controlling quick breaths and finally averted her eyes.

She turned and left him with a now calm Kieran.

Later that afternoon Peter found himself wondering who Kathleen had spoken of in her confession. Was he, by his mere presence, standing between Leo and Assumpta?

Never consciously.

Thunder cracked and he realised it had been raining for quite some time. Usually such weather would scare any sane man inside. Perhaps it was insanity, but Peter was suddenly restless to get out. Not just out – specifically he needed to speak to Father Mac. Assumpta was married and there would never be anything in their future to merit his decision. Nonetheless, he was sure, finally, that he needed to leave the priesthood. His thoughts had barely wandered from Assumpta all week – no, to be honest, longer than that. But there was so much more to it than her. At twenty giving up sex is probably the hardest bit. A lifetime of independence and the satisfaction of helping people seem a grand calling. At thirty-something a lifetime of independence becomes much closer to loneliness – or it had for Peter. And the rest of his life seemed like an awful long time to be alone – without a family or 'those kinds of friends' as he'd so ambiguously put it once before.

He closed Father Mac's front door behind him and took a deep breath. It was dark now, still raining and tiny rivers danced on the pavement reflecting light from the windows. Father Mac had been surprised, had thought Assumpta was Peter's only reason. On hearing the full story he'd been surprisingly decisive. No more waiting – tomorrow would be Peter's final Mass. If he wanted to leave, though the paperwork might take weeks, he needed to leave. Anything else would be unfaithful to the parishoners. This suited Peter – many were his friends and they deserved his faith in them, not only in God.

He drove past Fitzgeralds and tried not to notice the lights still on – though perhaps it'd be worse if they were off. Finally home he dashed from the car, under the dripping eaves and into the house. Brian's things were everywhere and with a bowl of instant noodles Peter retreated to his bedroom. Father Mac had been awfully easy on him – almost as if he understood. Perhaps there was more there than appearances suggested. The noodles were too hot so he placed them on the bedside table, picking up his sermon notes to make room. He'd need to change them, he realised, to add something of an explanation. What and how were damned good questions but better once for all than once for every person he came across for months. And better in his own words than twisted whispers and myth.

The rain paused as Mass ended. People had been kinder, less judgemental than he'd expected, and had kept their questions to a minimum. Basking in relief, he was, once again left babysitting Kieran, Peter said goodbye to a parishioner and hello to the baby, letting Niamh's words sink in. _Leo's gone_.

He wandered across the bridge, chatting to the Kieran – his new friend. Trying not to think about Assumpta and Leo, he told Kieran where the river came from, and where it went. At mass he'd told them he'd be staying in ballyk for a few weeks even though his duties would end now. After that, he figured, he'd have to go, find work, sort out what he was going to do. God, it was so beautiful here. In so many ways he was loath to leave.

"Left holding the baby father?"

He turned to the young woman walking toward him.

"You won't hear me complaining." Too true. "I hope you don't regret coming." (She'd come to ballyk in search of a long lost sister – who was in the end, her mother, but remained unfound.)

She shook her head. She was about to get on the bus, not really sure where. Peter wondered if that would be him in a week or three. How would he say goodbye? There had been few attempts to talk about it by his parishoners after Mass. He'd said, 'later', and 'we'll talk soon'. Some would, some not.

She kissed father Mac on the cheek and stepped onto the bus. Waving Kieran's arm, Peter watched the bus pull away.

Fat drops of rain fell from the low wispy clouds above, and the dark clouds above them swirled threateningly. He jogged into Fitzgeralds, cuddling Kieran close to keep him dry.

"Oh, Father – sorry, Peter," Niamh approached, thanking him for minding Kieran. She pulled the pram forward and Peter placed him carefully inside. "I tried to talk to Assumpta but she took off. Ambrose had to go into Cilldargen so I thought I'd better stay, mind the bar. I hope she's okay though – is it raining again?"

"Yeah, looks like its about to let loose." He looked around the pub and decided he was in no frame of mind to talk, explain... "I'll go and..." His voice trailed and he left the pub, pulling his coat around him.

Niamh hadn't said which way she'd gone but given that her car remained in its usual spot, she'd be on foot. He stepped out onto the road and looked around. Finn ran across the road further down the valley, then stopped at a farm gate, nosing the latch. Assumpta followed, jogged up to the gate, opened it. Finn ran through and on into the field, out of sight to Peter. She latched the gate and ran to follow the dog, not seeming to notice the rain.

Peter pulled the white collar from his neck, pocketed it, and jogged down the footpath, his shoulders already soaked. For a moment, as he fiddled with the gate, he thought he'd imagined the whole scene - she was nowhere to be seen. He stepped through and closed the gate, looking again and stepping forward.

Several hundred yards away Assumpta stood up as Finn raced to her side.

Worried she'd fallen and been hurt, Peter stopped thinking of his shoes and ran across the field. He slipped and slid, and finally fell on his arse, just as she saw him.

"What are you doing?" She shouted, walking carefully toward where he was sitting in the mud.

"Niamh said," she gave him a hand up and he wiped his muddy hands on black trousers leaving two smudged hand prints, "she said you'd taken off and with the storm..."

"It's not that bad." Assumpta lifted her face to the fast descending drops. She looked back at Peter. "I've a hot shower and dry clothes when I want them."

"Finn may need one too."

She followed Peter's gaze to find Finn dart sliding around a tree, clearly enjoying himself and probably about to become a major threat to someone's sheep.

Assumpta started walking to catch him - or at least to get within calling distance. The falling rain was loud and thunder rumbled a decent way off.

Peter walked beside her. "the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head."

Assumpta turned to him curious.

"But I've no spade to follow men like them." He met her questioning gaze. "From a poem."

She nodded. "That's about par for today."

Finn had stopped under the tree and they did the same.

"What do you mean?"

"One more thing I never expected to hear - though perhaps I should have."

Peter watched her brush wet tendrils of her hair from her face.

"Are you okay?"

"No idea. But I'm sure I will be. Usually am."

"I know."

Finn shook himself, spraying them with mud and water.

"So much for shelter." Peter stroked the dogs neck forgivingly. She was watching him, making him self conscious. "You heard then?"

She looked confused. "Not as such - I was there. He did _tell_ me he was leaving."

"No - I meant..." Was it possible Niamh hadn't told her? "Never mind."

"What?"

"And you're okay." He tried to change the subject back.

Her eyes still questioned him but, for now, she complied. "Probably more so than I should be."

He took a moment to absorb that. "Is he coming back?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't do that to him again – though if I asked he probably-" Deep breath. "No." She leaned against the tree, then, on second thought, sat down on the ground at the base of the tree.

Peter sat beside her, happy to wait until she wished to speak, if she wished to speak. And maybe later he would tell her of his decision.

"I thought I could go back. Once upon a time... but everything is different."

The clouds seemed to grumble and grow blacker as the rain became visibly heavier.

"Peter, why are you out here?"

He met her eyes and remembered her words. "You can tell anything to a friend."

"Priests don't have those kinds of friends." She replied automatically. She looked away, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I-" She laughed. "Would you look at me? Sitting in the rain, hopeless, everything a mess, everything-" She took a deep breath, "And cruel to the one person - always the one person." She turned to him, "Why? It's not part of your job and please don't say I qualify as charity."

He smiled. "Not quite."

"You don't smile enough." She observed absentmindedly, looking away again. "Not lately anyway."

He watched her face as she tried to figure it out.

"You're not the only one sitting in the rain, hopeless and everything a mess. I'm not going to say I know exactly how you feel, but I will say, I'm not quite as selfless as you describe me."

"That so?"

"I was worried. Niamh was worried."

"People do stupid things when they're heartbroken. For that matter, they do stupid things when they're in love." She knew why they might worry.

"Heartbroken." He repeated the word, confused.

"I should be, shouldn't I? For Leo, I mean. I should be devastated."

"And you're not."

She didn't move and stared determinedly at the puddle growing just beyond the shade of the tree. She swallowed, clenching her jaw. He watched intently and saw she was almost crying, trying not to.

"I'm fine Peter. You should go home."

"You want me to go?"

No reply. He waited but she did not look at him.

"If not for Leo, for who?" he dared.

Her forehead wrinkled and her lips tightened together.

Tentatively, but with little choice in the matter, Peter slipped his arms around her shoulders, pulled her gently towards him. For a desperate self-preserving moment she hesitated, but only for a moment. She shook against his chest, crying silently. He held her tighter, silently praying God, or something, would give her comfort, give her peace.

Thunder rumbled, closer now, and she pulled away, sitting straight and looking Peter in the eye as if unable to look anywhere else. There was an intensity there - almost anger, definitely regret.

"I'm sorry if I've made it worse." His voice was weak and unshed tears of his own had his throat aching. "You've often tried to be there for me. That's all I meant by it."

Another sob wracked her body and she looked out into the rain. She was shivering, he realised.

Silently, he stood, offered his hand, which she took and then dropped. They began walking back, Finn placidly at Assumpta's side. She ran her finger tips down his neck.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this." She spoke soft and sure, almost a confession.

"Doing what?"

"Oh come on Peter. You're a priest, for heaven's sake. _We_can't keep doing this."

"Actually," he took a deep breath, "I'm not."

"Not what? Not doing this?"

"No, I'm not a Priest – or not for much longer, and not actively after today."

She silently kept walking, trying to understand what he'd said. Was she imagining things? Fully fledged hallucinations or just mishearing things, hearing what she wanted... she'd not actually thought he would ever...

"Say that again?" she stopped walking and turned to him.

A step further he stopped, turned back, looked at her. "I'm not a Priest – not actively, as of today."

"Why?" her voice failed her and she only whispered, inaudible in the rain. It was obvious what she'd asked but the storm was not letting up and she still shivered.

"Let's get back, get dry, then talk."

Back on the footpath they walked faster, no longer fearing falling in the mud. But halfway up the road to Fitzgeralds she stopped. "I can't go in there like this – and you like that."

He nodded and took her elbow, nodding up the lane to his house. Nerves building he dropped his hand from her arm and jogged up the path in front of her to unlock the door.

It was already unlocked, and on opening was answered by Brian's familiar, but disembodied, voice.

"Oh, hello father. You're back eh?"

"Ah, actually, I forgot something. Be back later." He shut the door again as Assumpta stepped under the eaves, her eyes asking why they were still outside. "Brian's back."

She nodded. "You go in; I'll go home. I'll see you later."

That wasn't what he wanted, nor what she wanted, he guessed. But it made sense. "Soon." He inclined his head.

She nodded, not quite yet able to pull her eyes away. Eventually, with something almost like a smile, she nodded silent farewell and backed away.

"Take an umbrella." He said as she turned away.

"Too late." She called back, jogging off.


	2. Chapter 2

He took the umbrella when he walked to the pub later, keeping his fresh clothes dry and himself warm. Jeans, well-worn shirt, woolen jersey and raincoat. Dry shoes and thick socks. God bless thick socks, he thought, stepping in cold puddles without feeling anything but soft, dry, warmth. The lights of Fitzgerald's looked warm and welcoming, though only yesterday they'd shook him with thoughts of Leo and Assumpta together. So much had changed so quickly. Now he was to explain, though perhaps not _now_ as she had a pub full of punters, most likely, and no help to guarantee her a break. On second thoughts, the conversation they were about to have might require more than a break.

Niamh was leaving with Kieran wrapped up in a dozen layers and almost disappearing inside the buggy, rain shield down. "Y'alright fa-Peter – sorry."

"S'alright Niamh. I'm fine. Have a good evening."

"Same yourself."

He nodded and went inside to a chorus of "shut the door".

"Sorry." he said too loudly in the suddenly quiet pub. Assumpta spotted him. She looked shaken, exhausted, and busy, though the place had paused. "Need a hand? I'm unemployed."

"She's 'right," Padraig piped up, "Come sit here, dinner's on me."

"Go ahead," Assumpta spoke before he had a chance, "What'll it be?"

He shrugged.

"Lamb chop's great." Siobhan suggested. "Soaked in beer o'coarse, so I'll have a burger." She gave a wry smile.

"What? You've finally had enough to drink? Never thought I'd live to see the day!" Padraig lifted his empty glass. "I'll have hers."

"Actually, I'm pregnant."

After she'd answered, or not answered, as she wished, the following chorus of questions, she whispered to Peter, "Might have bought you a day's grace – then yours'll be headline news again I'm afraid."

"Thanks Siobhan. You've no idea how much I appreciate it."

"Ah, buy me an orange juice and we'll call it even. I had to tell them sometime. Sooner and faster the better – like a sticking plaster."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. Assumpta was watching him – he could feel it. As soon as Siobhan's attention was pulled back to the others he got up and went around the bar.

"What are you doing?" Assumpta asked, continuing to fill yet another beer order.

"Getting Siobhan an orange juice."

"That right?"

"That's right."

"People'll talk father." She plonked the full glass on the bench and left it to be picked up by whoever ordered it – or whoever was faster. She realised what she'd said and whispered "sorry."

"What can I do?"

"It's fine, Peter. I do this all the time. Old pro."

Four new patrons filed into the pub and Peter caught Assumpta's sigh. "You get them. I'll deal with this lot." He nodded at Padraig who was still waiting for Siobhan's beer.

With a single nod she gave in.

"Right, so a burger for Siobhan, and lamb for you two," Peter passed Padraig his beer.

"And for yourself fa-Peter. Sorry."

"Don't apologise. I'm not adjusted myself."

"Right, good."

"So, do you have grand plans?" Brendan lifted his eyebrows to Peter, who was about to head into the kitchen to find the makings of dinner orders.

"Right now - three lamb chops and a burger." He disappeared.

"Where'd he go?" Assumpta returned to the bar, pen and a full notepad in her hand.

"Kitchen." Brendan answered. "We'll let you know if you should be paying him."

"What?" she put down the pad and popped her head around the door, sizzling oil reaching her ears. "Peter-"

"Just doing the regulars - figure I can't scare them off."

"Worth a try." She leaned on the door frame. "I appreciate it, I do. But you really don't have to do this."

"I want to. Call it training for a new career. Will you write me a reference?"

"I'll give you a job."

"Well, call it work experience for now. So I can do the burger - all the usual toppings in the fridge and patties in the freezer right?"

She nodded, watching him, amazed.

"What about the lamb?"

"Chops in the fridge, in their marinade. Gravy's in a jug. Green salad in a bowl and mashed potato just needs a zap in the microwave. I usually put the chop on the potato, pour the gravy over and salad on the side - but I leave it in your capable hands."

"Very trusting." He lifted the frypan and swirled the oil, lifted two meat patties from the bag and dropped them into the pan which hissed and sizzled dramatically.

"Drink 'Sumpta" Brendan called from the pub.

"Already? Jayz. Must be celebrating." Assumpta turned and paused. "Thank you."

Peter smiled at her, lifted the frypan and flipped the patties like he'd been doing it for years. He heard her laugh disappear into the sound of the pub.

He carried out the burger first, then returned for the two lamb chops. He stopped beside Assumpta and they watched Padraig and Brendan take their first bites. Eyebrows were raised in surprised appreciation and all the appropriate mmm noises were made.

"Excellent Peter. New Career." Brendan lifted his beer then began loading his fork for another mouthful of potatoes and lamb.

"I'll make yours." Assumpta motioned for him to take a seat.

"Wait on, how will you know if you can hire me unless you've tried some?"

"Fair question, however, I have a pub to run."

"You have to eat."

"Ham sandwich when I got back."

"It'll only take me ten minutes to have it ready - then I'll watch the bar while you eat."

"Peter, you don't need to do this."

"I want to."

She met his eyes stubbornly for a moment, then gave in.

"Right." He disappeared back into the kitchen and started rifling through the pantry.

"Smells delicious." She stuck her head through the door five minutes later and he jumped in the way so she couldn't see.

"No peaking."

"It's quietened down."

"I'll be ready in two minutes. Go pick your wine or something."

She smiled and went back out.

"You getting this too 'Sumpta? It's really good."

"I'm not certain what I'm getting."

"I wouldn't worry too much. There's beetroot on this burger, but it's perfect - better than it sounds. The man has a knack for it."

Peter put the finished product on the kitchen table, clearing it haphazardly. He put the cutlery in place, a serviette and lit a candle that usually lived on the windowsill. The bench was a mess, but it could wait.

He stepped out behind the bar. "It's ready."

"I just have to get these -"

"Let me." He took the notepad off her and handed her the glass of red wine she'd poured earlier. "It'll get cold."

She took a deep breath, shook her head and, with half a smile, backed into the kitchen.

Peter poured the beers and took them to the table, took more refill orders on the way back and was easily kept busy for ten minutes. Everyone seemed to have a drink and it quietened down again. He forced himself to wait a minute before peeping into the kitchen, hoping she was enjoying the break, as well as the food. It was unexpected how much he enjoyed being able to help her out, and he'd always found cooking therapeutic. Perhaps, if there was something else - at the school, or nearby - he could work here part time.

She was staring at the candle, hypnotized, her plate half empty and fork full of food midway to her mouth. Her other arm rested on the table, head rested in her hand, and tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Every few seconds she sniffed or turned her head to wipe her cheeks.

Peter was paralyzed for a moment, then remembered her crying earlier that afternoon - this was probably caused by the same things. He stepped in tentatively and she looked up, putting the fork down.

"It's delicious."

"Is there anything I can..."

She turned her head, covering her face with the hand it rested on.

"Sorry, take your time. It's quiet out here now."

"This is really, really good." She lifted the fork again and took the mouthful. "My cous cous is always bland."

"I can write down the recipe." He pulled out a chair and sat beside her.

She took a few more mouthfuls of the golden grains..

He looked around the kitchen and apologized for the mess. "I'll help clean up. I was thinking, perhaps, if we want to talk, it would be best to wait till everyone's gone home anyway." He met her eyes and saw tears still wet on her cheeks and more yet to be spilled. "What is it?" He whispered, blatantly concerned.

"I -I really needed a hand this evening. It really means a lot to me. You must be starving, and exhausted - it's been a big day for you too."

"Bit peckish, but my dinner's half ready and I can wait a bit longer. Take your time." He stood up and went back to the bar.

When Assumpta emerged she'd washed her face and hidden the fact she'd been crying.

"How was your dinner?" Siobhan asked immediately.

"Amazing."

"I'll just ah-" Peter disappeared back into the kitchen to make his own dinner and avoid the embarrassment of too many compliments.

He brought his dinner plate out and sat back beside Siobhan at the bar.

"A well earned meal, Fath- sorry, Peter."

"Better be on the house." Padraig piped up.

"Tis." Assumpta confirmed before Peter had a chance to disagree - the expression on his face gave away that he'd intended to do just that. "And the drink with it. What'll it be?"

"Ah, go on then, glass of wine."

Not long after Peter finished his meal Siobhan pleaded tiredness and went home. Brendan and Padraig followed suit and in the end every customer had left by nine thirty.

Peter was reading a food and wine magazine he'd found in the kitchen when Assumpta walked out from behind the bar and locked the door. "Well, that was an unexpectedly short evening. "She picked up half a dozen empty glasses and headed back to the kitchen. "Thank God."

As she came back in Peter closed the magazine and got up to help.

"You don't need to..."

"Trouble shared." He picked up the glasses off the table in the far corner and put them on the bar.

"Okay but I don't want to pull you away from your reading. I mean, that could be the inspiration behind future award winning menus."

He ferried three more tables' worth of glasses to the bar and Assumpta took them from there to the dishwasher in the kitchen.

"I don't think I'm quite up to a full menu. I was just playing around."

"Don't do that- talk yourself down. It was delicious. Everyone said. If you want a job you've got it."

He didn't reply - just kept clearing tables. Then collecting coasters, throwing away the beer-ringed disposable ones, advertising Guinness. Then he wiped the bar and picked up the last glasses off the bench behind as Assumpta returned to get them. She stopped amazed. The place looked spotless and Peter, there carrying empty glasses and a dirty cloth, a sheepish smile on his face, obviously appreciated her surprise. "You've got to stop or I'll owe you forever."

He smiled, "No you don't. Let's get it all cleaned up then we'll have another glass of wine."

"Will we now?"

"Yes - then you won't owe me.' He grinned cheekily, "And we'll sit by the fire."

"Is the fire still even going?"

He nodded and she had to consciously keep from hugging him. "Oh good, my room won't be icy then." She let him past into the kitchen. "The chimney goes up through the wall and it takes the edge off the chill."

"Well designed."

"Hope so. Sometimes the wall gets quite hot. Better not burn it down one day. I'd be devastated."

"You're insured right?"

"Yeah, but this is my home. It'd never be the same."

He picked up a tea towel and started drying. She asked about the spices he'd used in her dinner and culinary conversation kept them distracted for the duration of the dishes. Bench finally clear they went through to the lounge with their full glasses of the dark wine. The room was warm, firelight giving it a safe and welcoming tone. Assumpta sat cross-legged on the couch and Peter stood by the fire.

Before it got the chance to get awkward Assumpta began, "So, what are your plans?"

"Plans for the future?" He took a deep breath, a sip of wine, then put the glass on the mantle. "I don't know. I mean, I have ideas but none of them seem to fit quite right. I don't really want to leave ballyk but I'm not sure I'll have much choice."

"What do you want to do?" She tried to ignore the prospect of his leaving.

"Something fairly similar actually - maybe counseling. I guess I don't feel quite up to any more big decisions for a week or two." He smiled and looked at her, hoping to see her smile back.

Very seriously, she stood, put her glass on the mantle beside his and stirred up the fire.

"You left he priesthood to do something similar." She was clearly confused, or not allowing herself to believe any of the explanations that came to mind.

"That's not why I left - that's just what I'd like to do next."

"Oh." She stood and faced him. "So why did you leave?" Her voice wavered.

He took a deep breath and sat down. Her close proximity would not make this easier to explain. She followed suit, sitting opposite and waiting patiently.

"I always had a fairly strong sense of calling - or whatever you want to call it. I've always been sure of what I wanted to do. I wanted to help people. Being a priest was, for a long time, the best way I could think of to do that most fully, so I did." He swirled the wine in his glass and took a deep breath of its scent. "Lately I've started to think that being a priest does not necessarily make it easier to help people - just more obvious, and expected. Perhaps, worse than that, I've started - well, a while ago now - resenting certain things about being a priest - lots of things, and I've realised I've much less motivation to help people." He took a sip of wine, put the glass down and rubbed his face. "I don't know if I'm making sense, but... I have often had this awful slipping feeling, as if I'm losing myself and becoming another cliche - a disillusioned priest, lonely, bitter but wise-sounding, and with a very hard, cold picture of God. The thing is, it just doesn't fit. The more I think about it, the harder I find it to believe that God would want me serving Him, as a priest, and miserable. I think maybe, a loving God, a good, compassionate, forgiving and understanding God - the one I have tried to serve, the one I talk about and all of that - that he would probably rather I trusted his grace myself and found a way to do what he wants me to do, without slowly killing myself."

It took her a moment to absorb. "Sounds reasonable to me."

"Sounds reasonable but it's difficult for me - I've made vows..." He took a deep breath, stood up and faced the fire. "Anyway, I've struggled with much of that for some time. What finally changed more recently - well there were a few things - the shaking up of my own faith for starters. Closely followed by too much babysitting than's good for someone who'll never have a family of their own, and then..." he turned around, took another controlled breath, "Until recently the times I've been closest to throwing it all in have been almost entirely to do with you." He hurried on. Her surprise at his putting it so bluntly was clear and he feared losing his nerve. "Then you showed up married and I took it as a sign, on top of everything at the retreat, that I simply must be strong and move on. You could no longer be a factor in my decision and yet I finally realised, it was too late. I still had to leave."

After a few painfully silent moments she asked, "How'd Father Mac take it?"

"Once he'd heard my reasons - better than I expected. He was the one who wanted it to be quick. He said today should be the last - in practice at least."

"Did he expect it?"

Peter shook his head.

"But I thought..." she trailed off, unsure how to explain.

Bravely, he met her eyes. "As far as Father Mac was concerned my only problem in being a priest, was you. He may not hold me in highest regard but he knows me well enough to know I'd never..."

"Be with a married woman."

"Yeah." He tried to read her reaction from the expression on her face but she wasn't allowing it. She knelt down and stirred the fire again, adding a piece of wood.

"So," she sat back on the floor, "you're a free man."

He had a feeling she would say more and waited.

"And I'm married." She lifted her knees and hugged them, looking up at him.

He nodded ever so slightly.

"God, I feel like such an idiot."

"What? Why?"

"I went and got married. I should never have... But I had no idea. You... you want to be with me?"

He slipped off the couch, onto his knees in front of her. "There's no hurry Assumpta."

"I think you've had a little more practise at _waiting_ than I have. I just wish I'd known. I thought - after you said you were going on retreat, I thought that was it - our chance had passed. I had to move on. And I tried. Failed miserably, but tried - and all the time, you were working up to leaving the priesthood... for me?"

"It wasn't that simple - you couldn't have known - I didn't even know for certain till yesterday." He sat back on the floor, crossed his legs. "In the end it wasn't solely for you. Would have been, had I known..." He still wasn't a hundred percent certain.

"What?"

"Is it really over?"

"Leo?"

He nodded.

"Never should have started. But yes. Definitely."

Again he nodded, trying to let everything sink in.

"Peter," she touched his knee, silently asking him to look at her. "I'll be divorced, in weeks or months, it doesn't matter, and that's that." Her tone was final.

He looked confused. 'What do you mean?"

"I can't ask you to put aside everything you believe."

"You haven't. If you married Leo because you loved him I'll walk away right now. If not, then..."

"Alright." she sat cross legged in front of him, not yet a smile on her lips, but a glint of hope in her eye. "So what now?"

"You asked me what I want. Your turn."

"I'm not sure I got the full answer, but alright. I don't want to leave ballyk either. I guess, one day, I'd like to do a little more than run a pub. But for now..." She looked down at his hands, resting open on his calves. She grazed her fingertips against the soft inside of his lax fingers. "To be here, with you, is about it."

He watched her amazed, breaths deep and steady. He took her hand and she looked at him, met his eyes, swallowed nervously.

"Your turn."

His words were certain though his voice wavered. "To be with you."

Finally she smiled, though hesitantly.

He squeezed her hand, willing her to understand.

She looked at their hands and then back into his eyes. "I thought I'd given up. I thought that was all I could do."

"I should have said more - I wanted to - before I left, I mean."

"You sounded so certain that day. God, I was a mess. I thought - oh, I don't know what I thought."

"You thought I didn't feel it - or perhaps that I could just ignore it."

"That's what you were meant to be doing, right? Going on retreat." She took her wine glass and swirled the remainder, watching it briefly when Peter's eyes became too intense.

He nodded and raised his eyebrows. "If it could be done, then yes. I hoped so. You could say I was doomed to fail though, cause more than that I hoped it wouldn't work and I'd be forced to stop fighting it. What was it Oscar Wilde said? The best way to resist temptation is to yield to it. Or was it the _only_ way?"

She smiled weakly, "So I'm temptation."

"Oh, you are so much more than that." He reached out unwittingly to brush the hair back off her face, stopping the moment his fingertips touched her cheek.

She looked boldly into his eyes, waiting for him to decide if he'd continue.

He did, gently brushing the palm of his hand against her cheek, but pulling back too soon.

"'Sumpta," he spoke softly, adoring.

She exhaled and tentatively took his hand. "Perhaps we should call it a night."

He nodded, fully aware of how tired and weak he was right now. He looked at her, the warm light of a fire illuminating her face, her eyes shining, perhaps a little too wet. "You are so... beautiful."

She swallowed, trying not to be overwhelmed, then took a sip of her wine - almost empty - she finished it.

"Let me," He took the glass, stood, picked up his own and took them through to the kitchen. Assumpta stirred the fire up one last time, switched off the light and met Peter in the hallway.

"Thank you - for everything." She stood nervously facing him in the almost-dark, the only light coming through from the stairwell and the fire.

"My pleasure - I mean it. Thank you for..."

"Falling to pieces all over your delicious cooking?"

He smiled. "We should do it again sometime."

She laughed.

"No, I meant for listening to... all that. I don't know how much sense I made. It's been a long day."

"You made perfect sense."

"Then thank you for your understanding." He inclined his head toward the door. "I should..."

She nodded and led the way, opening the door to the dark heavy rain. "Oh, your umbrella."

She ran back through to the bar and looked around in the dark. Peter followed, turning on the light.

"There," she handed it to him.

She turned the lights off and clearly expected him to turn back to the door. She was standing too close and jeopardizing his resolve to leave. He reached out again, brushed back her hair and ever so lightly placed a kiss on her cheek. "Good night Assumpta." He whispered.

"Good night." She replied as he pulled away and left, closing the door behind him.

For a couple of minutes she stood there in the dark, leaning against the door frame and letting the evening's events play over in her mind – how Peter had helped all evening, what he'd said, especially his reasons for leaving the priesthood and her role, or perhaps lack there of... how he'd touched her – tentative, uncertain, tender and needing her. Needing him would be her biggest risk, but it had already been taken. There was no going back now.


	3. Chapter 3

As usual, she woke around nine. Donning her robe, she went down stairs and poured herself a cup of coffee, then sipping carefully she looked around the kitchen and that's where the routine changed... spotless. She wandered out to the bar – also clean, tidy and summoning memories as fast as they could pop into her head. Everything had changed since this time the previous day. What would today hold?

A knock came at the door when she was half way through her bowl of cereal, still in her robe, bare feet up on the opposite chair at the table. Probably Niamh needing a babysitter while she went to stop her father digging up an ancient sacred burial site or something.

"It's open." She called and took another mouthful – slightly more than she could eat in a ladylike fashion. This needed banana. Or sugar. Make that both. She peeled the banana and started slicing it onto the cereal.

"Mornin'," Peter knocked on the kitchen door and stepped in.

She dropped the banana into the bowl and slopped milk everywhere. "Oh..."

"Sorry, I thought you said to come in."

"I thought it was someone else." she looked down at her open robe, long tshirt and bare legs. "Sorry." She wrapped the robe around her and tied the tie.

He smiled. "Am I early for work?"

"Oh, so your takin' the job now?" She wiped up the milk and finished making her breakfast.

"If it's still on offer."

"Sure. Why not? You a cereal or a toast man?"

"Oh, thanks, ah, cereal."

"Coffee?"

"Please." He took a seat.

"So, did you sleep well or discover you'd been struck down with illness from chasing me out in the rain?"

"Slept well. Yourself?" He took the cup of coffee offered and thanked her.

"Yeah, surprisingly." She put the makings of breakfast and an empty bowl in front of him. "Help yourself."

"Thanks. Why surprisingly?"

"You know, lots to think about."

He nodded and poured the cereal into his bowl with a slurp of milk. She handed him the other half of her banana.

"Thanks." He smiled at her, eyes lingering, for once without needing to pull away. "So, what's the routine? Open at eleven right?"

"Mm, yeah. Before then there's shelves to stock, sandwiches to make, and the menu to put up on the board. I usually prepare anything for dinner in the afternoon. Unless you have anything fancy in mind for dinner – then you might want to get onto it."

He smiled. "Alright."

"It'll be a breeze with two of us. On my own it's... well, depends on the day." She smiled wryly

He stopped, transfixed... again. "The perks might be the main obstacle to my success."

"Closet alcoholic?"

"No." He finished his coffee.

"What then?" She refilled the mugs.

"You."

She laughed for a moment.

"Sorry, cheesy."

"No. Not from your lips." She sat back down. "Right now you could probably get away with all sorts of hallmark cliches."

"Shall I test that?"

"No. Just tell me the truth."

"Alright," he took the mug from her hand, put it down on the table and held her hand. "Last night I slept better than I have in months. This morning I woke up and couldn't stay in bed. Suddenly I have so much to look forward to. And then I come over here and you..." he exhaled, "you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you see an awful lot more than I do when I look in the mirror."

"That's not hallmark at all." She held his hand between both of hers.

"Not coherent enough?"

She smiled.

"Do you know I love you?"

She looked into his eyes, finally fully acknowledging what she saw – what he was offering, and finally, she knew he was certain. She nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Then you got the gist."

"Peter," she whispered, watching his eyes as they dropped to her lips. She knew it was coming but was by no means ready. His lips grazed hers, dry and smooth, once, twice. He paused, pulling away a bit, looking into her eyes, wordlessly asking if she wanted this. Words would fail her so she answered the best way she could, leaning forward to close the space between them. She put one hand on his shoulder, steadying herself, grazing his lips again, just once this time. He opened his mouth, breath heavy and warm on her cheek, kissing her there, then her bottom lip. She opened her mouth, breathing haphazardly between needy kisses. He let go of her hand and tangled his fingers in her hair, tracing the curves of her shoulders and back then pulling her into a rough embrace. Their breaths slowed to normal as they perched on the edges of their chairs in the sunlit kitchen.

"God, I've wanted to do that for so long." She laughed lightly.

"You have?"

She loosened her grip on his shoulders and pulled away to look at him, her eyes silently questioning how he could not have known. "I never thought, never dared hope, I'd actually be allowed to. I thought I'd missed my chance after Brendan and Padraig's play."

Peter laughed. "I wished I hadn't noticed them at the back of the hall. If I'd gone ahead and kissed you then I imagine I would have left the priesthood months ago."

"That so?"

He nodded and kissed her again, "Just so." And again.

"I see what you mean about the perks and the obstacles."

"Although the gawking eyes of half of ballyk ought to be some deterrent to kissing you in the middle of the pub."

"Oh, they're going to love this. Siobhan and Brendan won't get a show in."

Peter laughed and got up to put away the breakfast things. "Perhaps we should keep things under wraps for a bit anyway – just till all the paperwork's through."

"And I'm divorced." She helped put things away.

"True. How does that work?"

"Don't know. Never did it before."

"I didn't mean..."

She laughed. "So, what'll it be for dinner tonight, master chef?"

"Let's start with adjusting our expectations. Then looking in the cupboards."

She gave him a brief inventory of what was available for the week, when she would restock and the limits of the budget, given the inconsistent number of customers ordering meals, "though your expertise might be the solution there."

"We'll see." He started getting out the makings of sandwiches and setting up a production line on the table. "How many do you usually do?"

"Dozen or so to start." She went out to the bar, reached up and grabbed the chalk board down, taking it back through to Peter, "Just a few of each. I make more as they're bought and waste a bit less food. Oh, is that the time?"

"I got this – you go."

She stepped toward the door and paused on the threshold, turning back. "Thank you."

He looked up from margarining, smiled at her and shamelessly watched her walk away.

Siobhan cocked her head to one side with a smile on seeing Peter behind the bar.

"Mornin'," he grinned at her, "How are you today?"

"Oh, fine. I see you've taken the job. Will there finally be hot lunches on the menu then?"

"Not this week." Assumpta stepped through from the kitchen, "Don't want him scared off by demanding regulars."

"He's regular enough himself to know what to expect." Siobhan took her stool.

"Just the usual today Siobhan, what'll it be?"

She gave her order and Peter disappeared into the kitchen to put it together.

"How's things?" Assumpta poured her first customer a drink, and one for herself.

"I'm going to get very tired of that question." Siobhan lifted her glass, "Morning's a bad time to ask."

"Yea, 'course."

"Did I hear wrong or has married life not been as blissful as it looks?"

"It looked blissful?"

"I didn't say that."

"Ah, fair call. Yea, well."

"He's gone?"

Assumpta nodded.

"You okay?"

She nodded again.

"Guess I won't be the hot topic for long then?"

"You've no idea." Assumpta murmured as Peter returned and placed Siobhan's sandwiches on the bar.

"Thanks. So, you're staying in ballyk then?"

"Yeah."

"And tending bar?"

"For now."

"I never would have thought I could get pregnant, unmarried, and not be talk of the town item number one. And have you two to thank for it?" She paused for a moment on the last then shook her head.

Assumpta and Peter resolutely did _not_ look at one another, quickly getting on with anything they could find to keep busy.

They shut up at two thirty. Assumpta passed glasses to the bar and Peter carried them through to the kitchen and filled the sink.

"So, any chance we'll get through the week without the whole town figuring out..." Assumpta reached past him and put the last load of glasses in the water.

He turned to face her and found she was closer than he'd realised. "Sorry?"

"Everyone's going to figure it out."

"Oh right, you think?" He left his hands resting in the sink but twisted to face her.

"I don't know. Maybe I was just hearing things."

"If anyone walks in right now they'll figure it out." He kissed her, meaning to pull away.

She held his face between her hands and kissed him hard. "Let them find out."

She grabbed a tea towel and he turned back to the sink with a deep breath. "Probably not a brilliant plan."

"No, probably not. Everything changes a little bit when you're kissing me though."

"See now there's our problem," he tried not to be rendered entirely useless by her words, "we barely spoke once things got going."

"After Siobhan..."

"Precisely. We were – well we barely spoke except for the necessary."

"Perhaps that's the problem."

"Huh?" He passed her the last glass and drained the sink.

"We barely needed to speak did we? It was just so easy. They all know perfectly well that this is new to you and yet..."

"Only cause I'm working with you."

"Exactly. We make it look too easy."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at. So I should trip up a little more. Or hide in the kitchen?"

She smiled at him, "Your eyes give you away."

"Oh, I'll try to keep it under wraps."

"Don't do that."

An obnoxious rap at the bar door interrupted her growing intensity.

"We're closed!" Peter yelled.

"Good work."

The knock came again.

"Comin'" Assumpta dropped the tea towel on the dish rack and walked through the bar to open the door. "Morning Brian. We're closed."

"Yeah, I heard. I've a message for Fath- I mean Peter."

"Oh right, Peter, visitor." She returned to the kitchen as he came out.

"Morning Brian."

"Your brother called, said it was urgent."

"Oh," He hadn't heard from his brother in ages, "Did he say what it was?"

"No, gave a number though. Sorry, got to dash."

"He trying to woo you into business?" Assumpta leaned on the edge of the bar.

Peter turned, shook his head and looked at the piece of paper. The number was his mother's.

"What is it?"

"Brother called, from mum's, said its urgent."

"Go ahead," she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and nudged him toward the phone. "I'll be in the kitchen."

He nodded, "Thanks."

Assumpta finished tidying up the kitchen and started getting out the makings of dinner. She went out to the bar to pour herself another cup of coffee.

"I'll see you tomorrow with any luck. I'll call from the airport."

She stopped to listen but that was the end of the conversation. Peter said goodbye to his brother but didn't come back through. She put her mug down on the bar and went to him.

"Good God what's happened?"

He exhaled trying to keep his emotions in check then took a deep breath. "Mum's sick." He met her eyes. "I have to go – I'm sorry."

She shook her head as if to say _don't be ridiculous_. "Of course you have to go. It's fine. Are you going to be okay?"

He nodded, not especially convincingly.

"Peter," she touched his shoulder again, then pulled him into an embrace. She held him like that without speaking, for several minutes.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Do you want me to come?"

He shook his head pulling back, his arms still around her, only loosely now. "I'm okay. Then everyone really would figure it out."

She was relieved to see humour return to his warm eyes. "When it comes down to it I care a damn sight more about you than what they think." She brushed her fingers down his cheek. "I love you Peter."

He pulled her roughly into his arms. "I don't know how long I'll be away, but I'll call."

She nodded.

"And I'll see if I can fast track my freedom to do this." He kissed her then pulled her into a hug again.

"You sure you don't want me to come." She could feel his distress when he kissed her.

"I wish you could. But I don't think it's a good idea."

She nodded, understanding. "I'm just being selfish. I'll miss you."

He smiled and looked away, "Way to a man's weak spot."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. I always miss you when you're not here. Or I'm not here."

She smiled.

"I better go pack. It'll be a miracle if I can get there by tomorrow."

"Manchester right? Home."

He shook his head. "I'm home now." He kissed her then rested his forehead on hers.

"Travel safe." She ran her hands down his arms and squeezed his hands. "I love you."

"I'll never grow tired of hearing that."

"Good. Cause it might come up the next time I see you."

He smiled, almost laughed, then remembered why he was leaving. "I really have to go."

She nodded.

"I love you."

She smiled. "Bye."

He kissed her once more and left.


	4. Chapter 4

His family were much more understanding than he'd expected. They wished Assumpta had joined him – his mother especially. She gave her blessing the night before the died. She said the greatest joy in her life had been her boys and she was glad he might know that joy one day.

Assumpta was run off her feet for the, what was it now? tenth night in a row. Brendan had taken to pulling pints, but only for his corner of the bar, predominantly himself. She'd shortened the dinner menu drastically and though he'd only done one night the regulars were already vocal in their enthusiasm for his return. They knew why he was away of course, but had little idea how much their comments were throwing Assumpta. She'd never missed him like this before – now that she had more to miss.

When the phone rang she virtually threw Michael his pint and ran to get it. She drew a bit more attention than she really wanted but given that she answered the phone in her usual professional manner they seemed to all turn back to their drinks and conversations.

"Fitzgeralds."

"Hi." His familiar voice was definitely a notch lower than usual.

"Peter." She took a deep breath, listening, "How are you?"

"Okay, considering," his voice was rough, breathing heavy down the line, "S'over."

"Right." She waited, uncertain for a moment, "Do you need me to come?"

He sighed, "I wish I could ask that,"

"You don't need to ask. I'm offering."

"No, I just needed to hear your voice. I'll be home within a week – sooner if I can manage. Priest's here now, funerals arranged for Friday. There's a few things need arranging after that, but..."

She could hear him trying to compose himself. "Peter,"

"I'm okay."

"No you're not. You don't need to be."

She could hear him crying and her chest ached with compassion and concern.

He thanked her when he could speak again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Oh, Peter." She suddenly realised she was being watched, but thankfully the pub was noisy and there's no way she'd been heard.

"Do you remember when you came up to St Josephs one time and told me _you can tell anything to a friend_?"

"Sure."

"And I said I couldn't have _those _kinds of friends."

"Yeah."

"Thanks for not leaving me to go through everything alone – though I said that was what I wanted."

"You've got _that_ kind of friend now."

"Thank God."

"Really?"

"Yeah. For life to live, for my mum, but mostly for you."

"God makes a lot more sense when you say it."

He laughed, "How ironic?"

"What?"

"You'll probably marry the only priest that ever made God make-" He realised what he'd said.

"It's okay Peter."

"No, I shouldn't presume..."

"It's hardly romantic, but I hope you're right."

"You do?"

She exhaled heavily, "Let's not do this now. I've a pub full of punters, half of them gawking at me. They've probably figured out who's on the other end of the line and our cover's blown. Either that or they're starting to think they'll get a drink faster if they leave for Cilldargen now."

"I love you."

She met the enquiring eyes of several regulars then turned away so no one who was interested could see her mouth. "I love you."

"I should let you go."

"Yeah, probably. Or else I'll be martyred to the patron saint of beer."

"That's not orthodox."

She was relieved to hear the spark in his voice. "Sleep well."

"You too."

"And travel safe."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She hung up the phone, waited a moment to prepare herself for whatever was coming – be it the Spanish Inquisition or the beer-pull-marathon.

"Who was that?" Siobhan asked as soon as Assumpta was within earshot.

Brendan and Padraig looked shamelessly curious and no doubt would have asked the same question had Siobhan delayed a moment.

"You lot wouldn't recognize good manners if they were floating in your drink."

She moved away to serve customers but on her return Brendan asked, a little more soberly, "Is he alright?"

"Not really. But his mother's just died."

"The priest finds comfort in the publican." Padraig spoke as the drink dictated and they knew he hadn't meant to be so mean, but looked at him accusingly nonetheless.

"He's not a priest." Assumpta was less subtle. "If you must say it, get it out of your system now, cause the last thing Peter needs when he gets home is his so-called friends milking him for all he's worth on the gossip market." She moved away, though there was little cause, and as soon as she'd done all she could find to do, retreated into the kitchen.

Brendan soon followed, standing patiently at the threshold in case she wanted to tell him where to go. She didn't. "I know what's happened."

"I just told you. Good work."

"That's not what I meant."

She didn't react for a moment, then turned to face him. "Peter's mother died today. That's what's happened. Also on the gossip front, ah, Leo left me, and fair enough, oh, that's right, and Siobhan's carrying your baby. Congratulations, you've ears."

"Assumpta," He stepped closer and looked her in the eye, "The only reason people haven't noticed is because they're not looking for it. I know you well. And, not quite to the same degree, I know Peter Clifford. I won't say a word, but if you need to talk to someone, you know where to find me."

She nodded, acquiescing.

"Are you okay?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Just worried for him."

Brendan nodded. "I'm glad he has someone to talk to."

"He's always been a good friend to anyone who asked. Even me."

"Above and beyond the call of duty then."

She smiled. "Better get back to it yeah?"

With a nod, he opened the door. "Age before beauty." He walked through ahead of her and made a beeline for his seat.

A couple of days later Assumpta rifled through the scraps of paper by the phone, eventually finding the number. She was all ready for the evening and had half an our before opening again. She dialed the number, stretched out the phone cord and got comfy in the nearest seat.

"Cliffords, Mark speaking."

"Oh, hi, ah, is Peter there?"

"Sure is, can I say who's calling?"

Before she answered she heard Peter in the background, "Oi, give it here."

"Here you go." Mark finished.

"Peter speaking."

"Hi,"

"Hi," he stopped himself from saying her name, glaring at his brothers who reluctantly left the room.

"How's everything going?"

"Oh, getting there. I'm remembering why I never pursued Law."

She laughed and he sighed, relishing the sound. "You okay?"

"Yeah, getting there. What am I missing?"

"Oh, you're not. Quigley's latest business pursuits are making life hell. Nothing new."

"What's he done now?"

"Hired some obnoxious git to help run glorified paint ball. Of course the obnoxious git has to stay at my place and thinks he can get me with the room."

'What?"

"I'm a big girl Peter. Comes with the job. You're not missing anything." She laughed.

"What?"

"Just thinking – it'll be your turn sometime. Some punter will grab your arse and I'll probably take a swing at them."

"You would?"

"Do you doubt it?"

"Not really."

"So how's the family? Been a while since you've seen 'em."

"Sure has. Nieces and nephews give more attitude and less hugs than I remember."

"Did you tell them?"

"About us?"

"I meant about leaving the priesthood."

"Yeah. And about us. Figure I won't see them again for a while and they're too far away to feed the gossip in ballyk."

"True. How'd they take it?"

"Really good. Mum especially – well, better than I expected."

"I'm glad."

"Yeah, it's a relief. Wouldn't have changed my mind but Mum's blessing's important – seems silly, I know."

"No it doesn't."

After a few moments silence he went on, "How old were you?"

"When?"

"When your parents died?"

"Oh, that – eighteen and twenty four, dad first, then mum."

He exhaled heavily, "You're stronger than I am."

"You'll get through this Peter. I've no doubt. You're stronger than you think."

"Yeah,"

"I mean it. You're not like most, hiding from things, pretending they don't hurt and acting strong. You feel everything and you're real with people, honest and, well, humble I guess. You don't pretend you're immune. It's what made you different from most priests. It's real strength. You might not feel strong, but I've no doubt its there."

"I don't feel it."

"It takes time. It's okay. Better to mourn than not."

"Wise words."

"I learn from the best."

"Better not mean me."

"I do."

"Don't make me question your sanity."

"I do it all the time." She laughed. "You better be coming home soon."

"Yeah, I am. Flight's booked for Saturday. Do I still have a place to live or has Brian rented out my house again."

"He's still living there, but I think you're still welcome. If not, I've spare rooms. Wish I didn't but there you go."

"Probably not the wisest idea. I wouldn't trust myself."

She laughed. "Glad to hear I haven't lost my charm."

"Not likely. I am entirely yours. Just not quite yet."

"Paperwork still taking it's sweet time."

"Done all I can here, just a few loose ends – with Father Mac and the Bishop, then I can post the lot away and pray I've got all my bases covered."

"Divorce'll probably take longer then."

"If it's anything like the legal cacophony we've had here, you're in for a party."

"My part's signed, just waiting on Leo. Then they say to expect a month or two for bureaucracy to make the world a better place, a day trip to Dublin and I'm free."

"We'll throw a party."

"Small party."

"Just two guests."

"You can cook."

"Deal."

"I miss you."

He sighed. "I think about you constantly."

"It's not just me then."

"I better get back to it – a lot to do in two days."

"Yeah, I have to open – oh, three minutes ago. They'll be banging down the door any moment."

"I love you."

"Bye."


	5. Chapter 5

Assumpta rolled an empty barrel out the front then went back inside. She looked up at the clock and heard the bus pull up as if summoned by her thoughts. Peter hadn't said what time his flight was getting in or if he'd get on this bus and she tried not to expect it, rolling out the next barrel. She put it in place, straightened up and looked over at the bus, blocking her view of any departing passengers. Then she saw Kathleen Hendley outside her shop, who probably could see the passengers departing the bus, look from them to her, where the look became a glare.

Assumpta glared back, then trying to be smart about it went back inside. One more barrel. She tipped it on the side and bent over, rolling it to the door. There she paused, looked out again briefly and continued to join the barrel with the others. He was probably chatting to the bus driver.

When the barrel was up right she leaned forward on it, preparing herself for the disappointment of a phone message saying he was delayed a day. With a deep breath she turned around and looked up the road. The bus pulled away. No Peter. She took a deep breath, saw Kathleen watching her again and went back inside. She didn't have the strength for a face off now.

Inside she went straight to the phone, found the answer machine numbers and picked up the receiver. Waiting for the automatic prompt she turned back to the bar.

There he was. Like a mirage, perched on a bar stool, he smiled at her.

Her eyes widened and she exhaled, hands shaking as she replaced the receiver.

He stood and walked toward her, clearly tired, but a growing smile on his lips.

Assumpta took the last two steps, the disbelief fading from her features as he crushed her against him, lifting her off her feet. She gasped.

"Sorry."

"No." She laughed, arms tight around his back.

He kissed her hair, relishing the feel of her pressed against him.

"One moment." She pulled away, closed the door and found her self swept into a kiss the moment she faced him again. She almost laughed, with surprise and joy, but soon became otherwise occupied.

When he rested his forehead on hers, breathing becoming more regular, she asked, "So, how are you?"

He could see the concern and care in her eyes and wanted to be honest. He shook his head, "enraptured to see you, to be back," he looked away and back to her, his voice fragile, "devastated."

She nodded. "I'm meant to open in five," she looked over at the wall clock, "oh, five minutes ago." She shrugged.

"Yeah, I want to get unpacked, have a shower. I only left this morning, but it feels like I've been traveling for days."

"Go home, take your time. I'll be here whenever you're ready."

He nodded, "for a crowd."

"You can hide in the kitchen, peruse the cuisine magazines, eat all the food. There's tissues."

He laughed, "sold."

"I'm sorry, I wish I could just drop everything,"

"No. I need to get things sorted. And we have business to run."

"We?"

"Sorry. You – my point is-"

"It's okay Peter." she shrugged.

"See you in a bit."

"yeah – wait on," she pulled him back and hugged him tight. "I love you." she whispered in his ear and let go reluctantly, relieved to see a smile on his lips as he left.

---

Peter arrived partway through Padraig's unfortunate dying-mother-related-joke, indicating to the others not to give away his presence. When Padraig saw him and the punchline fell flat.

Peter repeated it with gusto, "like that, then it might work."

"I'm really sorry, I don't know what to say."

"Buy us a beer," he joined the ranks, "Tell you what, anyone in this bar who can tell a good joke, take one step forward. Not so fast Padraig."

Assumpta couldn't help but smile. The others laughed but she curbed her reaction, her feelings of admiration so strong that she was sure she'd give them away. She noticed Peter was barely smiling though.

Once all but the regulars had left Assumpta brought out plate after plate of Thai food – the practice round for the upcoming food fair.

"Assumpta – brillaint." Brendan lifted his fork in salute, "What have you got their Padraig?"

Siobhan intercepted the food passing between them. "Have you lost your appetite Brian?"

"No Siobhan, and I haven't lost me taste either."

"What?" Brendan looked up indignant.

"Bar snacks are bar snacks."

"Bar snacks?" Assumpta turned shocked, ignoring Peter's cringe as Brian was saying enough to rile her up all by himself.

"If you want real Chinese food you know where to go."

"Exactly, a Chinese restaurant. This is Thai food."

"Typhoid." He mumbled.

"What?"

Quigley miraculously got out of it alive, introducing Shamie to the crowd. Shamie's accent gave away just how authentic he was."

After the plates were all but empty Assumpta stacked them up behind the bar, thanking those who appreciated her efforts for being the guinea pigs.

"Hey, if you need any tips..." she shrugged at Shamie.

"Anytime."

"No I meant – no, forget it." She carried the plates through to the kitchen.

"Don't mind her, she put on the face and the wind changed." Quigley invited Peter over and told him of the restaurant, introducing him to Shamie properly as the lights flickered off and on again.

"Assumpta!" Padraig called, too many beers to keep his voice to the required level.

"Am I deaf as well as blind?"

"I'm only saying-"

"Okay, I'm dealing with it." She lifted the hatch and disappeared from sight.

"Know your way around a fuse box?" Brendan looked at Peter while picking at the remains on a plate Assumpta was yet to clear.

"Some."

"She doesn't."

Peter smiled, wondering if Brendan was hinting at something – no, he was probably just being over sensitive about it. How, after all could he feel something so strong and no one else notice a thing.

He climbed down the ladder. "Can I help?"

"Probably"

"I think it's gonna be more than just a fuse."

"Oh it's always a fuse." She called out as the lights flickered in the basement and went out.

"What have you done?"

"I Dropped it – ah, have you got a light?"

"Sorry, it could be anywhere." He looked around pointlessly. "I'll help." He got down on his knees and she joined him.

She felt around on the floor, arm grazing against his. "You're shivering."

"I know."

"I can kick them out. It's after eleven. Only reason I didn't was that you seemed to be enjoying the company."

"I was – I am. It's just a little overwhelming – everything changing all at once."

"You alright down there?" Padraig called from the bar.

"Yeah, we're fine Padraig." She called back.

"I'm fine." Peter assured her, leaning in to kiss her and pulling back awkwardly as Brendan came down the ladder.

"Now what's the problem," Padraig asked, second down the ladder.

"We've dropped the fuse." Peter answered. Brendan found it again immediately.

Quigley was last down the steps.

"What, three of you?"

"Four." Brian corrected, nodding at Peter.

"Do you not have homes to go to?" She headed back upstairs, passing Brendan the pliers on her way past.

"What's the matter with her?" Padraig pushed just a little bit further. Fortunately Assumpta was out of earshot or had wisely stopped listening.

"Well it is a bit crowded down here." Peter defended her, thinking the better of it only after the words were spoken.

"So doesn't she like to be the boss in her own house." Brendan explained.

"You know Assumpta." Peter tried to be a bit more neutral. Better to save the blatant adoration for the lady herself.

"Fuse is the least of her problems." Quigley looked around the aged basement.

Brendan fiddled with the fusebox and put the fuse in place. Padraig and Peter, looking over his shoulders, commented on the dangers, the need to replace the lot.

"Says she can't afford it." Padraig explained as Guard Egan's voice resonated even in the basement.

"Open up, Guard's on public house duty. Come on Assumpta!"

Quigley pulled Peter back to keep him from giving away their presence. They sat on the steps, listening to Ambrose's rather feeble questioning.

"Am I going to have to go down into the cellar to find them?"

"No," Brian led the way, offering Ambrose a drink as soon as he was upright.

"I've just told him it's a private party," Assumpta looked from Ambrose to Brian indignantly.

"That's precisely why I'm offering him one."

The others were out of the basement now, except Peter. The lights went off without fizzle or flick. They came on again and Peter climbed up out of the cellar.

"Ah, go on, I haven't seen you." Ambrose appeared to have given up.

Assumpta nodded to him and mouthed, go. This was the last thing he needed. She could see him tomorrow. She would too, most days, if not everyday for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately that didn't change the fact she wanted him to stay now.

"What?" Peter closed the trap door and straightened up.

"Mr Clifford, this is not time for an attack of conscience. Will you go?"

"Well this is silly. You have seen me. And anyway, this was a private party."

Assumpta smiled at him, then looked back to Ambrose, lifting her eyebrows. He stormed off, leaving the door opened. She followed, at a more leisurely pace, shut and locked the door, then turned back to Peter.

"That went well."

He smiled.

"You're okay." She watched him, glad to see the amusement in his features.

"These things take time. The day I don't find that lot funny – then I'm really in trouble.

They cleared the bar and sat down in the kitchen with cups of tea.

"You should be careful down there – wires fraying, some of them bare."

"Padraig said."

"You were using metal pliers." He looked at her, a little annoyed at her nonchalance.

"What choice do I have?" His eyes were accusing and immediately rattled her. "I've got to keep it running and in order to fix it properly the whole place has to rewired. There're no nearby planets where I can afford that."

He sat silently for a moment, staring into his tea. He hadn't meant to accuse. "I know. But the danger is fairly high. It's not worth your..."

She saw the sadness in his eyes – his thoughts delving into dark places, places that were becoming increasingly familiar. He couldn't lose her too. That'd be too much.

"I'll be more careful." She took his hand.

"I have some money."

"What?"

"Mum left me some money. Not enough to buy a Javelin," he tried to lighten the mood, "but it'll cover this."

She shook her head.

"I want to. Call it buying shares. Call it whatever you like. Pay me back if you feel you must. Whatever way you'll have it – but you can't leave it like that. I can't let that happen."

"Let it?"

His shoulders sagged and he rolled his eyes, not really up to fighting about it.

"It's not your responsibility."

"Responsibility?" He was incredulous and it showed on his features but she wasn't looking.

"I'll pay for it when I can. I'm not begging your inheritance off you. No way." She looked at him. He clearly thought she was being ridiculous. "We should call it a night." She stood and walked through to the bar.

He followed, confused, and watched her open the door, leave it open and then walk away, up the stairs, without another word.

He stood there for a moment trying to figure out where he went wrong. He was too tired for this, for figuring it out, for fighting at all. With a heavy sigh he switched off the lights in the bar, checked the doors were locked and let himself out.


	6. Chapter 6

Assumpta woke, hunched over her kitchen table, to the thud of a cup of coffee being put in front off her. Blinking and yawning she straightened up, looked at the coffee then around the kitchen for Peter. He walked in from the bar, closing the door behind him.

"What's the time?" she rubbed her eyes.

"Twelve-thirty."

"What?" She made to get up.

"It's fine. I opened at 11.30 – but only because I had to break in. Would have been on time otherwise."

"Oh." She watched him, trying to gauge if he were angry or teasing. "Is it busy?"

He shook his head.

She relaxed in her seat, picked up her coffee and sipped it. After a while she thanked him. She watched him make a sandwich – to replace one he'd sold, she assumed. Then he went back out and returned with a coffee for himself, sitting opposite her at the table.

"I couldn't sleep." She tried to explain.

"All evidence the contrary."

"I mean, when I was meant to – where I was meant... I went to try to talk to you, but then I didn't want to wake you. Then it got light and I thought someone might see me."

"You came over to..."

She looked at him but after a moment couldn't bare it any longer and focussed on her coffee instead.

"What did you want to talk about?" He sounded tired.

"Did you sleep?"

He took a deep breath and exhaled.

"You didn't have to open up. Customers banging down the door would have woken me."

"Have to?" His eyebrows knitted together, mouth open in confusion. He stood up, leaned against the bench. "I didn't- You clearly needed to sleep. I didn't do it out of obligation." He turned to face her, "Just like last night, my offer had nothing to do with responsibility. Worst case scenario – I can't even fathom...Assumpta, I love you. That is my only motivation." He put his coffee mug down with a sigh. "When I want to pay for something or work when I've had no sleep – and these things will probably happen again – please don't look at me like I _want_ something."

She stood and went to him. "I'm sorry." She bravely met his eyes. "That's what I wanted to say this morning. I sat on the doorstep and had a whole speech planned out." She sighed. "I don't want you to regret..."

"Regret?" He looked into her eyes which confirmed his suspicions.

"That's not going to happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"There isn't a doubt in my mind. Look, pay me back if you must."

"No, I mean I can if you want, but..." She looked into his tired eyes. "I'm sorry. I feel terrible. You needed me last night – or at least, the last thing you needed was a fight. And I..." she finished the sentence in a whisper, looking blankly at a stain in the sink, "fought."

He nodded, barely perceptibly. He couldn't disagree.

"I was so hard on Padraig – and I..."

"Padraig?" He asked while she was figuring how to express what she wished to say.

"Oh, he said something stupid about a priest going to a publican. It was the drink talking and I know he didn't mean it, but I made this big speech about how your true friends would support you." She leaned back on the bench beside him. "And I, the one person you should be able to go to – I want to be that person, and I..."

He looked at her, her beautiful features angry and upset. "It's done." He stood in front of her, touched her cheek. "Water under the bridge. Will you take the money?"

She nodded, her eyes still searching his. "Yeah."

He smiled, pulling her gently to him.

She held him tight, in silence.

When their embrace loosened she spoke. "We can put _Clifford's_ over the back door if you like."

He shook his head, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. "People might get the wrong idea."

"I think that's inevitable." The spark and tease were back in her voice.

"I don't want to take this place from you, I don't want you to change. I just want to do what I can. I want to be part of it as it's a part of you."

"I think I can manage that." She stood on tip toes, leaning against him, no idea how much he was affected by her body pressed against his. She kissed him, quickly, cheeky, almost chaste. He didn't respond at first, afraid of himself, the unreserved need he suddenly felt. Innocent of this, she ran her hands from his shoulders, down his chest, and around his waist, resting them firmly on his hips. Breath haggard, he held her left shoulder with one hand, ran the other hand around the back of her neck and up into her hair, kissing her mouth unreservedly. She was so surprised that it took a moment to respond. Her hands on his hips slipped around to the base of his back, pulling him firmly against her. She stumbled backward, slamming into the table, which screeched against the floor as it moved. Hands against the tabletop, she lifted herself to sit on it and pulled him closer again.

"Everything 'right 'Sumpta?" Padraig called naively from the bar. His voice was muffled by the door but managed to bring them back to reality. Peter stood straight up, hands reluctantly dropping from her body to his sides. He looked at the bar door, breaths coming heavy and erratic though he tried to tame them.

"It takes a while to get really good at ignoring them." She whispered, then called in reply to Padraig, "It's fine Padraig."

"Customer's waiting." He called back.

"Oh." She jumped off the table. "I'll go. Let you get composed." She grinned cheekily, managing to keep her eyes from dipping to his jeans, and nudged past him, closing the door as she went through to the bar.

She served the customer and refilled Padraig and Siobhan's glasses.

"Hope you didn't fire Peter for breaking in."

She glared at Siobhan.

"I helped him. Just so you know. Not just his fault."

"His idea." Padraig added.

"But only cause he was worried something might have gone wrong."

"Always handy to know how to break into your own house."

Assumpta refused to look at him. "Anything else for you two?"

"Sure, bag of crisps." Siobhan handed Assumpta some coin, lifting her eyebrows to Padraig in silent comment.

"Peter's not doing a hot lunch for us?" Padraig pushed a bit further.

"Just sandwiches today. What'll it be?"

"You'll have to start soon or Brian will steal all the hot-lunch customers."

"He only got back yesterday."

"Full responsibilities today though."

She shot Padraig a look and returned to the kitchen.

Peter was leaning against the kitchen bench and lifted his eyebrows to her frustrated expression.

She sighed and leaned back against the door, then, wary that their voices be heard, walked over to Peter. "They're getting suspicious."

"We need to be more careful."

"Or we could just tell them."

He sighed. She made it sound like the easy options, but handled badly could have repercussions for months.

"I know – bad idea. It probably wouldn't hurt for one or both of us to actually be in the bar." She smiled. "And we should probably think about making your employment official."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that. I can't be worth much. Terrible references – only Father Mac really."

"Ah, perhaps not someone I agree with on principle, but he's hardly a teetotaler."

"Fair point. Look, to be honest, I'm not overly concerned. Whatever you're required to pay me, that'll do. I don't need much. Although..."

"What?"

"I'm going to have to find some other place to live."

"There's usually spare rooms here."

"I think it was fairly clear earlier the power I have to resist you."

"Oh, so that was resistance?"

He grinned, taking her hands and pulling her closer. "Don't mistake my meaning. I want nothing more than to be close to you, but more importantly, I want to get this right."

"Yeah, I know. No hurry. Unfortunately there are few options as to accommodation around here."

He nodded. "I might ask Brendan or Padraig – see if they could rent me a room."

"Padraig could probably do with the money."

"True. Right then. I'll go out front since I've no idea of the menu."

"You'll be harangued for hot lunches."

"I don't mind. I'll take down their requests and see what I can put together for next week."

"We may need to sit down and plan some time – I need to show you how this all works before you go reinventing the wheel."

"I am all yours."

She smiled at him, lifting her eyebrows, tempting and teasing.

"To work." He insisted playfully.

Ambrose strolled in with a serious look on his face. "Morning Peter. Assumpta in?"

Assumpta heard and came through. "Sure. What've I done now?"

He held out a folded slip of paper to her, then, from the other hand, to Peter. With a curt nod he turned and walked out.

"Oh, you are kidding me."

Peter stared at it. "Summonsed."

"I told him – arrgh-" She went to go after Ambrose but stopped before she reached the door. Stalking back to the kitchen she ranted, "He's only trying to make a point – there's no way we'll get done. He's just trying to prove that he's in control, that nothing goes on in Ballyk without his approval. Probably going for a payrise."

"At least you can get the rewiring done – may as well close up since we have to be away half the day anyway."

She sighed. Closing up was inevitable but financially damaging nonetheless. Last thing she needed. "Do you always have to look on the bright side?"


	7. Chapter 7

Padraig had a friend quote the rewiring. Peter refused to show Assumpta the quote, gave the electrician the go ahead, and pocketed the incriminating piece of paper, knowing he better keep it just in case.

"Not showing me only makes it bigger in my head." She tried to explain why it would be better if she knew.

"Not until it's done. Right," He shut off the taps in the bar. "You better pack. Since we have to close up I'm taking advantage."

She looked grim.

"Cheer up. Promise you won't regret it."

"I know. It'll be great when its done. Doesn't make it any more fun living in Niamh's spare room for the weekend and handing over the food fair to Brian – on his opening night nonetheless. This is business suicide."

"Niamh's?"

"Sure – I'm babysitting Kiaran tonight in exchange for a place to stay. She knew she'd never get a babysitter otherwise. Ambrose has summonsed the whole lot of us."

Peter smirked. "Ambrose asked me to babysit."

"What? And you said you'd do it?"

"I've a soft spot for Kiaran."

"Sucker."

He grinned. "I'll do it. I'm already packed."

"Where are you going?"

"Taking advantage of time off work." He winked at her. "See you later."

"Hold on-" She sighed, the door closing behind him.

Peter laid out the ingredients on the Egan's kitchen table, washing the celery and trying to figure out what he should do next.

He heard the door open and close. "Hi," Assumpta called out.

"Hi."

"Oh,"

"They've gone."

She came through into the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine. "I'm packed." She put the bottle on the table. "Thought you might want some company. What are you making?"

He listed off his dishes.

"Kiaran's not on solids."

He smiled, "but we have wine."

"I hear there's rules against that." She handed him the bottle. "So, it's for the food fair then?"

He nodded, pouring two glasses and offering one to her.

"Good luck."

"It's not a competition."

"Oh yes it is."

"I thought it was a fundraiser-"

"No, there's a silly cup. Look, can I do anything to help."

"So that's your plot then."

"What?"

"Spying, stealing my recipes, taking out the competition. I saw that film."

"Really?"

"No. They should make it though."

"They really shouldn't."

She sat on the bench and watched him work, her offer to help having been turned down. Kiaran cried as Peter began frying the ginger. Assumpta was up and out of there to get him before he could ask her. She returned cradling the baby against her chest, his cries now calming.

"Did Niamh leave a bottle?"

"In the fridge. She said a minute on medium. Then test it on your wrist."

"Yeah, I know." She smiled at Peter who was watching her as if there was more he had to say and didn't – about what she could not be certain. She heated the milk, sat down and fed Kiaran.

Peter finished the ginger and added it to the beef marinade, turning to face her and drying his hands. He smiled at the sight. "There's a picture."

She laughed and Kiaran spat out the bottle with a choke and a cry. When it was clear he was fine she offered the bottle again and he took it with gusto. "Do you remember that night we spent together?"

Peter lifted his eyebrows. "What was in my drink?"

She looked intentionally unimpressed. "When that baby was left on your doorstep."

He nodded.

She looked down at Kiaran. "This was one of the reasons, you said."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, not sure where she was going.

She met his eyes. "Reasons for leaving – too much babysitting."

"Ah, yes."

She nodded, eyes on Kiaran again.

He was afraid to ask, afraid he'd sound accusatory or surprised, afraid of her answer.

"Fair enough." She said simply, quietly. "It was never what I... dreamed of. I wasn't one of the girls playing happy families. But people change."

"Understatement of the year."

She eventually looked up, smiling ever so slightly. "I do want a family."

He smiled, holding out his finger for Kiaran to grip. "If you didn't it wouldn't change how I feel about you. Obviously I never planned to."

Kiaran ran out of milk and tugged on Peter's finger with a little more focus. He wriggled and lifted his arms.

"I think he likes you." Assumpta lifted Kiaran from her lap and passed him into Peter's hands, looking into Peter's eyes as she let go.

He adjusted the baby in order to hold him with one hand and took Assumpta's hand with the other, pulling her back, close.

She smiled then kissed him softly. "So, while you're holding the baby, what can I do?"

"I don't know. This is good practice surely." He stood and, holding Kiaran carefully in one arm, stirred a sauce with the other.

She laughed and clapped her hands. "You should take it on the road."

"I'm not going anywhere." He perused the kitchen bench, picked up the beef dish, carrying it and Kiaran to the stove. "I can no longer be called on to go anywhere anytime. I'll not be going anywhere."

Assumpta joined him, "Here," She took Kiaran, kissed Peter, then the baby, and sat up on the bench, just far enough away that she wasn't in the way.

Peter started frying the marinated beef, happily busy until he heard Assumpta sigh. He paused and turned to her. "You okay?"

"Oh, sorry. Just thinking."

He turned back to what he was doing, waiting for her to go on.

"Trying to figure out how we're going to get away with this."

"Without the censure of the world?"

"Well, those who've seemed suspicious would, I imagine, be forgiving. And so long as it doesn't hurt business too much – you and I are big enough and ugly enough, we'll be fine. I'm just thinking, if all goes well and we have a family,"

"Are our kids going to suffer?"

She nodded.

He sighed.

"Exactly."

"We're going to have to be careful how we break the news."

"It'll be a miracle if we can keep it a secret till we're both technically free."

He nodded. "Not that they'll know whether the paperwork's through."

She lifted up Kiaran, smiling at him and animating her voice, "It's all a bit complicated, isn't it."

Peter turned off the element and took the pan off the heat. Leaning against the bench, he looked at her. "Whether we wait a week or a year there'll still be something of a scandal. If its going to have implications for years – well we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there. Right now," he stroked Kiaran's head, "This young man should probably go to sleep."

"I'll take him. You finish up in here."

She came downstairs to find Peter wiping down the bench. "Do I get a taste?"

"Not unless you pay for it."

"Ah, where are the perks?"

He threw the cloth at the sink and closed the gap between them, pulling her roughly into his arms and kissing her.

"Oh, there they are. Taste testing indeed." She laughed and he kissed her again.

"I find it hard to fathom that I thought I could live without this."

She reached up to kiss him again as the front door was opened. They looked at each other for a moment, undecided in their actions when Niamh and Ambrose walked in – but they managed to put a little distance between them.

"Oh, 'Sumpta. I thought you were staying tomorrow." Niamh put her handbag down.

"I am. I was just giving Peter a hand." She looked to Peter, "with his cooking."

He glared at her ever so briefly. "Kiaran's in bed – had a bottle an hour ago."

"And a nappy change." Assumpta added.

Peter put on his jacket and picked up his cooking.

Ambrose asked them to stay for a drink.

"No, busy day tomorrow."

"We're in court." Assumpta shot daggers with her eyes. "Good night Niamh?"

"Yeah," Niamh looked sheepish. "You can stay tonight too, if it's easier."

"No, it's fine."

"I'll walk you." Peter put his hand to the small of her back, then pulled it back realising they had an audience.

Outside they walked in silence, only speaking on the doorstep of Fitzgerald's. "I've been trying to figure out what you meant earlier today – you said you were going to take advantage of the time off work. And why are you packed?"

"I'm moving." he held the door open and followed her inside. "To Padraig's, for now."

"Alright, but what about the taking advantage?" She switched on the light in the kitchen and put on the kettle. "I'm assuming you don't mean of me."

He laughed nervously. "Do you trust me?"

"Ah... sure."

"I thought we might go on a bit of an adventure."

"Not getting enough of that in Ballyk?"

"More of a holiday?"

"You just got back."

"Can you wait and see?"

"Well we have a, um, prior engagement in the morning and a food fair in the evening."

"We won't stay late."

"Will I not be staying at Niamh's?"

"No."

"Ah, well, that'll feed the gossip mill."

"Yeah. Tell her you're here."

"So you want me to lie now."

"I learned from the best." He gave her a childish smile, pleading and teasing. "Trust me. It'll be worth it."

She shook her head. "You're lucky I love you."

"Great. Well then, better get some sleep."

"You won't have a cup of tea before you go?"

"Not tonight." He stroked her cheek and kissed her once, pausing before releasing her lips, savouring her touch as if it had to keep him going till he saw her again. "Sweet dreams."


	8. Chapter 8

"So you're moving in today, but you'll not be here tonight."

"No. Just thought I'd make a start on moving my things over." Peter pushed the car door closed with his butt and took then next armload into the house while Padraig watched.

"Ah, right. So you're still at Brian's tonight then?"

Peter put then things down, turned to Padraig and shook his head. "Actually I'm roughing it. Been meaning to take my tent up those hills ever since I moved here."

"Finally free."

"Something like that."

"You're not missing the food fair?"

"No, but I'm setting up camp beforehand – no fun in the dark."

"You picked a good time to get away. Fitzgerald's is closed – oh, right, of course."

Peter nodded. As soon as possible, politely, he took off in his little car, up the hills of the valley, then tent in one hand, picnic hamper in the other, and pack on his back, he walked to find a spot with a view. Aside from a few clouds on the horizon, the sky was clear, the ground was dry but not too hard – it was perfect.

Several hours later when he took his silly cup from the food fair and stepped outside in search of Assumpta, it was pouring with rain. Par for the course, he thought, sighing heavily as Assumpta joined him.

"There you are – what's wrong?"

He nodded outside.

"Good Irish weather."

"Yeah."

She looked around and found no one in sight, ran her fingers down his back and around his waist, squeezing him briefly. "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He sighed again. "I'm not sure how much fun my surprise is going to be in this. Maybe we should postpone."

"You know perfectly well that we can't postpone. We only have tonight."

Peter laughed at her slightly husky voice, turned to her and stroked her face, "Maybe only an hour?" That part of the the play script they both remembered well. Peter pulled back suddenly when Ambrose came out of the main doors to the small foyer, Niamh following with Kiaran.

"Oh, y'are still here. Well, have a good evening." Ambrose held the door open.

"Sure you don't want to stay – it'll be cold without the heating on."

"I'm fine. See you." Assumpta shook her head and Niamh left, Ambrose closing the door behind them.

Peter turned back to Assumpta. "Still game then?"

"Sure, why not. What do I need?"

"Rain coat, warm clothes – probably an extra set in case..."

"In case we get wet. Shoes?"

"Yes."

She nodded, amused, "What type?"

"Waterproof."

"Right."

"I'll grab the car and meet you at home." He held the door open for her. "Might want a towel too."

She nodded. "See you soon."

They dashed away in opposite directions and half an hour later found themselves slightly damp, heat blasting from the dash, in Peter's small car, travelling up the hills. The rain was lighter but continued relentless. Assumpta knew the area well, knew there was little to attract tourists, in fact to attract anyone but sheep, where they seemed to be heading. She looked at him, curious, but managed to keep back her questions, doing her absolute best to trust he wasn't lost.

When he pulled over and parked on the side of the road on the edge of a decent area of woods and brambles, she could no longer keep her mouth shut. "Do you know where we are?"

He looked over at her, switching off the headlights, smiled and nodded, eyebrows raised as if to ask if she believed him. She shrugged, pulled her bag from the back seat and buttoned up her raincoat.

"Let me," Peter took the back from her hand, got out of the car and locked his door. She followed suit and he met her by the passenger door. "This was quite different in my plan."

"It's alright. Bit of adventure." She grinned, raindrops rolling down her beautiful face.

He laughed, "this way."

Once they were in the trees they followed Peter's torch, walking in companionable silence for the first few minutes.

"You know I've never been up here."

"Really?"

"Yeah – lived in Ballyk for, what now, twenty years. Good work finding a spot I don't know."

"Haven't found it yet."

She looked at him, slowing her pace.

"Don't worry, I know where I'm going."

They walked a little further in silence, the trees thinning.

"So, according to the plan, would this open onto a view of the valley, softly lit by the moon and stars?"

He sighed.

She laughed and took his arm in hers. "Peter, I love it."

"What, the fog? The dripping trees and the long wet grass?"

"It stopped raining Mr gloomy." She pulled him to her and kissed him. "So, where are we staying."

"Alright. No more Mr gloomy. I just wanted it to be perfect." He led the way.

"It is."

They walked on a few steps, into another clump of trees and out the other side to the place the tent was pitched. The rain started again and Peter unzipped it, rushing her inside and following. She waited while he found the lamp and lit it. The tent was square, a picnic basket sat in the middle and on either side a sleeping bag was rolled out on a thin air mattress.

"Take off your wet things." Peter prompted, pulling a string along the entrance way to hang their jackets on.

Assumpta took off her shoes and jacket then laughed.

"What?"

"If I take off all my wet things you might get more than you bargained for."

He groaned – whether out of mortification that the weather had tainted his plan or because the idea was rather charming, it was not clear. "I hope these clothes aren't wet." He put her bag down. "If you want to change I can wait outside."

"Peter, don't be ridiculous." She pulled off her socks and jersey, hanging them up to dry.

"I'll just – ah." He sat down by the picnic basket and pointedly didn't look at her.

She opened her bag, found what she wanted and changed quickly – long skirt, woolly socks and cozy red cardigan.

"All done." She turned to face him, pulling out her hair tie and running her fingers through her hair.

He inhaled, almost a gasp, watching her, adoring, as she sat beside him.

"Peter," she looked at the spread he'd put together. Cheeses of all sorts, crackers, fruit, chocolates and wine. "This is..."

He watched her reaction with pleasure. "What would you like?"

She smiled at him. "I wish I hadn't eaten earlier."

"Go on – have something small. It'll last till tomorrow."

She nodded. "Maybe some grapes – oh, is that Camembert?"

They ate, clinked glasses and sipped their wine, speaking of little but the tastes and textures, watching each other and relishing each moment.

"You spoil me." She finished her wine and put the glass in the basket.

He packed away the food and, when she declined more, the wine.

She watched him, realizing he was keeping busy because he was nervous.

"Strange isn't it?" She lay down on the bed beside her, rolling on her side, head rested on her hand, still watching him.

"What is?" He finally closed the basket and looked at her.

"To be completely alone – no one is going to walk in, no one is watching and wondering – will they, won't they? Bit of a first."

"Certainly is." He took a deep breath. "Sorry."

She sat up, sliding off the mattress so she sat on the floor right in front of him. She shook her head. "Don't apologise." Taking his hands, she looked at them, her own nerves kicking in at the effect of his touch. "You've nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm not very good at this."

"Are you serious? I've never been so thoroughly swept off my feet." She touched his cheek, willing him to look at her.

Then she yawned, despite every attempt to quell it.

He smiled watching and when she apologised he took her face in his hands, kissed her forehead, then her lips. "Don't. You may sleep whenever you wish."

"Do I get everything I wish?"

"Tonight I don't think I could find the will to refuse."

"Then don't read into this, but can these be a little closer together?" She put one hand on the mattress behind her.

He laughed. "Yeah, I think we can manage that." He got up, moved the picnic basket, relocated the lamp and moved his mattress closer to the middle.

Assumpta jumped out of the way and pushed hers over so they were against each other in the middle. "Much better."

"Better... tantalizing." He smiled at her, opening his pack.

Smiling back she asked, "Want me to hide in my sleeping bag so you can change?"

"Actually that'd be great."

She grinned cheekily, raised her eyebrows once, because she couldn't resist it and climbed in.

Peter changed into trackpants and a tshirt, moved the lamp again so that it sat by their heads, within reach, and then got into his own sleeping bag. "All clear." He laughed as she popped her head out. "God, I love you." It escaped his lips without consulting his intention.

She slipped her arm out, touching his face as if to memorize it. "I almost wish I could capture this moment and rest here for all eternity." She took a deep breath, fingers tracing his features, "Although, at some point I imagine the layers of fabric between us might become frustrating."

He laughed, caught her hand between his own and kissed it several times.

Watching, she continued, "So, had the weather cooperated, what would we be doing now?"

"Ah," He lay on his back still holding her hand, now against his chest. "Looking at the stars perhaps, there might be a fire, hot drinks..."

"Ghost stories?" she teased.

He looked at her and she inched toward him, leaning against his side, her hand now tracing the contours of his chest and shoulders.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He nodded.

"Aside from me and all the obvious attachments, what do you look forward to?"

He thought for a minute. "Aside from you..." he smiled cheekily, "obvious attachments?"

"Sure."

"Alright - well, I used to dream of having lots of books - old ones and new. I used to spend hours, and most of my spare cash, trawling through second hand bookshops. I got rid of most of them before I moved here." He turned to look at her. "I'd love to do it again - go through and find all my favourites, and some classics I've been told I'll love, then there's all those fantastic children's books. I hadn't even thought of it - I suppose I can now."

She grinned, "I've some shelf space you can fill if you like."

He watched her, reading all the implications of her assumption, reveling in the anticipation of all to come. Rolling to face her, he slipped his arms around her, pulling her close. She nestled against him, kissing his neck, his jaw, lifting her head to find his mouth.

He made sure the kiss was brief and whispered goodnight, holding her loosely as she dozed off.

---

Assumpta opened her eyes to the bright purple tent interior. She blinked and carefully rolled over, remembering where she was and anticipating a sneak peak at the man beside her. He was breathing deep and even, still asleep.  
She nestled closer and he moaned contentedly, slipping one arm around her without opening his eyes. So warm and comfortable she easily slumbered.  
She woke again to movement beside her. It took her a moment to come out of sleep and open her eyes. Peter was sitting up but turned to face her and smiled, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. Happiness suited him.  
"I can't decide which is the better view to wake up to." His voice was soft as he looked at her, then out at the door of the tent.  
Assumpta propped herself up on her elbows. The tent door was rolled up to the roof. The rain had cleared and above long green grass the valley opened up beneath them, spectacular in the sunrise.  
"Wow." Assumpta breathed. "No competition."  
He watched her reaction with pleasure. "Still, its you I want to wake up to every morning." He looked out at the view, suddenly nervous.  
She watched him, sitting up right and slipping her arms around him. "I love you."  
He turned, taking her hands. "Look, I know there'll be some delay and I'll wait - as long as it takes. What I'm trying to say - to ask-" He took a deep breath. "I want to - one day - to marry you."  
Her face broke into a breathtaking smile.  
"Oh, I forgot." He let go of her hands and, awkward in his sleeping bag, he shuffled and rolled to his pack, rifling around for some time.  
She watched him, amused and delighted.  
"Aha," He turned and shuffled back. Sitting beside her he took her hands again, and put a velvety jewelry box in her open palm.  
"Peter..." She looked at him nervously, her breaths short and shallow all of a sudden.  
"Open it."  
She obeyed, inhaling suddenly. She fingered the thin band, unable to pull her eyes from the stones - a tiny ruby surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was far from flashy but he couldn't afford  
this. "Peter..."  
"What do you say?"  
"Yes, of course, but this... didn't you take a vow of poverty?"  
"It was mum's. When I told her about you she said it shouldn't be buried with her and gave it to me."   
"It's beautiful."  
Peter nodded, taking her hand and slipping the ring on. "Perfect."  
She laughed. "I can't believe it." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight then pulling back to kiss him.  
He responded, naturally, but as she'd wrapped her arms him she'd stopped holding herself up and his enthusiasm pushed her back. She pulled him with her and they broke apart in surprise.  
"Sorry."  
She smiled and shook her head.  
"This is a very slippery slope." He lowered himself and kissed her briefly.  
"Won't be so long till-" She flew her hand through the air with a cheeky grin.   
"Won't be an hour if I don't move."  
She laughed and shoved him playfully. They sat looking at the view for a bit, their eyes periodically drawn to the other.  
"So, if we could just find a little dry wood we could have a cup of tea."  
"You'd be lucky."  
"I'll be back." He slipped out of his sleeping bag, put on his shoes and disappeared back the way they'd come from the previous evening.  
Assumpta got up too, found a private spot to relieve herself and headed back to the tent. Peter was still away so she changed and packed up her bag. She opened the picnic basket, stealing a grape.  
Peter returned looking grim. "See now, had a I been prepared there'd have been dry wood hidden in the car. But no..."  
"We've everything we need here. Almost a champagne breakfast."  
He grinned, sat beside her and they set to work creating breakfast out of the leftovers from supper.

They returned to Ballykissangel in the late afternoon to find a note from the electrician tacked to the door.  
_All finished. Bill's on the fridge.  
"_Excellent." Assumpta let them in and flicked on the lights. "Ta-da!"  
Peter laughed and closed the door behind him. "Like magic."  
"We could probably even open tonight. The grand re-opening. Only liquid for sale." She turned to him, running her hands down his chest, amazed to see the ring on her finger catch the light. "Thank you."  
He shrugged.  
"For everything."  
She soon got to work, checking everything was in order. "Right, so can you spread the word - at least make sure the regulars know."  
"Got to keep the competition on their toes." He put on his jacket again and saluted her. "I'll just drop my things at Padraig's and then I'm on it."  
"Don't forget Padraig." She called.  
He turned back and leaned over the bar. "Come'ere."  
She laughed and, stroking his face, kissed him softly. "I love you."  
"I love you. Thank you for a wonderful night."   
"Thank you."  
"You already did." He turned and left.

"I half expected you'd be back in the middle of the night, frightened home by the storm."  
"Hardly a storm. But fortunately the tent is waterproof."  
"So you're here tonight - and for the next wee while."  
"As long as that's alright."  
"Yeah, o'course." Padraig gave him the grand tour and when all the dos and don'ts were clear Peter took his chance.  
"Oh, by the way, I popped in at Fitzgeralds on my way back into town. Power's back on and she's opening up tonight to celebrate.  
"Excellent - you'll be makin dinner then?"  
Peter shook his head, "Nothing in the fridge. Just drinks."  
"Ah, good thing I've that pack of sausages to keep us nourished."  
Peter laughed. "'Sumpta asked me to spread the word so I'd better be off."  
Padraig insisted he use the phone.  
"Na, the walk'll do me good."

---

_  
_"So, where'd you get to last night Assumpta?" Siobhan put her glass down on the bar.  
Assumpta looked at her, shocked and confused for a moment.  
"You didn't wait to see who bought your meal."   
"Oh." Assumpta looked relieved, laughed, met Peter's eyes briefly then went back to work filling drink orders.  
"You left early too Peter." Brendan joined in.  
"Ah, he went on an adventure - off into the hills on his own." Padraig filled in.  
"In that weather? You're insane." Said Siobhan.  
"Good Irish weather." Assumpta added with a smile, holding Peter's eyes for a fraction longer than was wise.  
"He's English."  
"Not entirely different from good English weather Siobhan. But yes, I went and camped up on the hill. Entirely worth it. You should have seen the view - this morning when it all cleared up. Never seen anything like it."   
"Ah now Peter, just you wait. One day you'll wake up beside a beautiful woman." Padraig stopped for a moment wondering if he'd gone too far, but Peter just grinned.  
"So then, you just want to take your beautiful woman camping."  
"Ah, now, if you find a beautiful woman that'll happily go camping," Brendan lifted his beer as if to toast, "You're set for life."  
"That sounds about right."  
Assumpta put his beer on the bar and murmured under her breath. "You're playing with fire."  
"You're wearing the ring." He murmured back.  
Her eyes widened for a moment and she turned away, slipping it off one hand and onto the other.  
As soon as she turned back to the bar Siobhan beckoned her over. "Where'd you get that? Assumpta it's gorgeous."  
"Oh, family heirloom."  
"Never seen it before." Brendan looked over curiously as Assumpta pulled her hand back.  
"Like you'd notice." Siobhan winked at Assumpta. When the others were later engrossed in a conversation Siobhan added so as only Assumpta could hear. "You were wearing it on the correct hand earlier."   
Assumpta looked at her shocked, then looked away, feigning an ordinary conversation. "How'd you know?"  
"Are you even divorced yet?"  
Assumpta shook her head. "Long winded process. I wouldn't recommend it."  
"Guaranteed way to avoid it - don't get married."  
"Hah." Assumpta wasn't sure what to say.  
"But in this case, given his history, I'd say their isn't much chance of that."  
Assumpta looked at her, shocked again. "How do you know?"  
"One or both of you might as well have it tattooed on your forehead."  
She held her hand to her forehead. "Does everyone know?"   
"No."  
Assumpta looked over at Peter, in the middle of some animated discussion with Michael and Brendan.  
"Just Brendan and Michael. Niamh's suspicious though."  
"Yeah."  
"Probably didn't help you sneaking off for the night."  
"What?"  
"I saw you come back."  
Assumpta groaned. "Nothing happened."  
Siobhan chuckled. "Aside from that pile of pebbles."  
The others turned their attention back and heard the last of Siobhan's statement.  
"I don't know if I'd call them pebbles." Michael held out his hand and Assumpta complied, rolling her eyes over to Peter as if calling for help. Michael pulled her closer. "Congratulations."  
Assumpta laughed. "I don't believe it."  
"What?" Asked Padraig.  
"If it's a family heirloom, it's not her family." Brendan nodded at Assumpta with a smile.  
"I don't get it."  
"Who might be receiving such precious items in, say, an inheritance."  
Peter glared at Brendan as Padraig finally took his meaning.  
"Are you serious? You two? So it's all official now?"  
"Hardly." Peter tried to quell their enthusiasm and the volume of their voices. Easier said than done given the beer consumption.  
"Keep it down." Siobhan supported him. "Others might be less enthusiastic. In your own time." She nodded at Assumpta and Peter.  
"Thank you." Assumpta took a deep breath and met Peter's eyes, finding him smiling at her.  
"Whew." he whispered when she was near again and the others had started on some new topic, miraculously not pertaining to them.  
"Four down." Assumpta took his empty glass. "Another?"  
"No, thanks."  
"Who'd've thought I'd be glad for hardly any customers after that fat bill was slapped across my fridge?"  
"What I thought I took it?"  
"You did."  
"But how did you see it?"  
"I didn't. My imagination is blowing it way out of proportion."  
He shook his head. "Already sent the payment. Forgot how much it was. Sorry."  
"You've got to keep it for the books."  
"Well, there's that bit, but I'm not looking at it."  
"I will."  
"You can't. It's locked away. Big lead box. Even superman couldn't find it."   
She glared at him and he lifted his eyebrows, all innocence and amusement.  
"I love you."  
"I love you, damn it."


End file.
